Wednesday, November 18, 2009

I've been having consistent sex for a year- Yay me.

It was a year ago last week, that My Love and I decided to "make it official" to stamp a label on it and stop drunkenly (er, desperately?) kissing strangers and flirting with fuglies for a little admiration.

...we met, I say, "accidentally." I had a little "Glee" in my step, had just returned aimlessly from Europe and thought next I'd be India bound, or sipping caipirinha's in Brazil, or living in Santa Barbara with "Luca" who I'd met on a train ride (he could've been a figment of my imagination, he looked like an Italian Jude Law, 6'4 and was a personal chef- why we didn't bone, I have no idea?)- that is, after the holidays. So, WTF would I do until my next "big adventure," i'd sing in a show!! Genius.

One evening, my Europe-inspired-cockiness and I went unprepared to an audition- that, if I booked, would keep me occupied for the winter and give me the chance to flex the golden pipes three times a week in public. No music, no appointment- I showed up, I booked the gig. I booked the lead character, get this; an impregnated, Catholic school girl- knocked up by a gay boy. Brilliance right? There was even a sex scene. Very Spring Awakening, just less awesome.

Turns out, my wayward Love needed something to do for the holidays too- he accepted the gig through a friend and played guitar in the show.....the rest, as they say- is history, i.e. an amazing year of unparalleled orgasms, life-changing conversation and someone to watch The Kardashians with.

I knew that first night, as he fumbled with my bracelets across the table, finding an excuse to touch my skin and mustered up the courage to ask if I'd want to go "grab a bite," which latter turned into "makeout like horny 16 year kids in my car" fest, that he'd be my boyfriend, that I could stare at those brilliant curls and sparkly eyes everyday. Fuck, going to India! I'm in LOOOOVE!

A little over a year ago- I was convincing myself I'd be "ok" semi-dating potential suitors, who would prove to be less than charming and fantastic, and that at the end of the night I wouldn't cry in bed, wishing there was a warm body next to me. I would be that Single Girl who wore lingerie just becauseand picked up men who wore nice suits, then leave their high-rise with heels dangling from my hand, before they woke up to take my-satisfied-self for french toast and a mimosa. I didn't need their company, I was confident- people wanted me. I had a bevy of admirers. I would talk about, how "I'd just adopt" if I never got married, or knocked up. I'd take long bubble baths alone and live in my bathrobe like it were a pair of his boxer shorts. I'd impress my relatives at the holidays when they asked why I didn't have a "man," with my audacious self assurance and wit, then like a snake charmer I'd weave stories they'd live vicariously through as they lapped up spinach dip and tall tales, only to go home wishing to be single for one. more. day. I would star as the Eva Mendas in my own life......

...this of course, was what I thought- I could be. But a year ago, I wasn't that. I wanted kisses and snuggles, someone to tell me they loved the baby hairs around my temples. Single Girl wasn't having fun cooking single-serve dinners (hi, I'm not good at math, try changing recipes) and Single Girl certainly didn't dig on the awkward front-door-kiss. What the hell Eva Mendes movie is this? One where she's fucking 16 and going to prom. FUCK. THAT. I'll be a spinster.

I'd given up. My white flag was raised. And I applied coats of Mac Lip Glass to make that plastered smile SHINE, betch. Then he was there.....

He listened. He wanted to be there for every moment, good and bad to toast a glass with me, or let me scream like a lunatic while he "shhhed" me quietly, like a baby, back to sanity. He watched me when I slept...and I didn't think that'd happen again unless someone was checking to see if I was dead. He calmed me, centered me- made me present. He made me feel weightless, talented, validated- dare I say, perfect even?

This year we've grown in love with each other and I knew from the first date where we downed truffle oil fries, that I could be happy with him. We've created music together, toured, recorded, sold out shows and bombed others. We've hiked mountains (literally), confessed the worst of secrets, panicked and overcome together. We've built on dreams and created new ones. We've jaunted all over New York, New Mexico, Washinton, Oregon, Vail, Breckenridge and Colorado. We've tried walking out, then walked back out of guilt and fortitude. We've consumed too much PBR and even more walnut pizza (if you haven't had it, do it- add walnuts.) We tried hot tub sex, not worth it, but we tried and I even have a sex scar. Call me, hardcore.

Daggers have been thrown, but never more than "I love you's." I know, you're gagging. What it all comes down to, is; I love his fucking face. I admire his spirit. I'm awed by his intelligence. I am lucky.....that he found me. And I like his penis. The end.

I play the role of Cynical Single Girl a lot, but I'll tell you something - I much prefer having someone around who gets me. Shhh it's a secret! I'm glad you found the truffle oil to your fries (and ohhh lordy are those bad boys good).

felt the same way you did. i was gunna rock this world by being the single girl who had any guy she wanted. it was playing off quite nicely tell my ex walked back into my life and now i can't get enough of him. going on six years. crazy.

so i started reading the 6th paragraph and pretty much fell off my chair since you described me right down to the housecoat, except i'm not so high maintenance and haven't painted my toenails in weeks. it's nice to see you so happy, even i don't know you, and you two make a gorgeous couple. your babies will be beautiful someday. happy anniversary!

So I mopped up the puke enough to write this, but you owe me for my labour.This is the fucking funniest, truest thing I've read this week.I've just come out of a relationship that ended because of travelling and distance and am still in the Eva Mendes phase of my life for a bit.But when I do need someone to praise my baby hairs and watch Peak Season with me, I hope I have a little bit of what you guys have.'Cause it sounds pretty damn great.

This is amazing and adorable -- and yeah, that single girl Eva Mendes lifestyle sounds glamorous and all, but what they don't tell you is that it's kinda lonely and things are far more interesting with a hot man (and lots of orgasms) to keep you company. Glad you found him :)

At first I was worried that you were getting too sentimental, but then you mentioned that you liked his penis, and I was like, Okay, so this IS Chelsea blogging after all and not someone who stole her identity!

You crack me up, girl. You've lived such an amazing life...and now you've got someone to share the adventure with :)

aw seriously, i love those types of stories :) whoever is going to turn me into a google pudding is one lucky guy. because i am hardcore single girl attitude. i don't want complication. i don't want to be tied down... AND i'm going to india, dammit! (ferreal)